


Be My Homeward Dove

by allwaswell16



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Presents, Christmas Shopping, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Humor, HP: EWE, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-15 01:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13020162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allwaswell16/pseuds/allwaswell16
Summary: It's almost Christmas, and Draco must find Harry the perfect gift. It's much more difficult than he'd imagined.





	Be My Homeward Dove

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phdmama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phdmama/gifts).



> This fic was written for my friend, phdmama, as a part of her Secret Santa gift! I hope you enjoy this bit of fluffy Christmas humor. Why do I always write you fluffy, established relationship Christmas humor? I also titled this fic from lyrics of one of your favorite songs, 'Dance Me to the End of Love' by Leonard Cohen. <3 Love you, L!

“Bloody hell, Weasley. Could you hurry up? I haven’t got all day.”

“I thought you did have all day.” Ron replies as he drags a woolen cap probably knitted by his mother over his shock of red hair. “Thought we were shopping all day. I told Hermoine we’d be gone until dinner.”

Draco shoots Ron a look.

“What?” Ron asks. “Are we going to be out all day or not? I should really let her know.”

“For Merlin’s sake, I’m not going to make it through the day, honestly. Can you stop being obtuse for one moment? Or is that asking too much?”

“Well, you don’t have to get all huffy about it.” Ron mutters. “Just a simple question.”

Draco’s had enough. He just rolls his eyes and disapparates. He waits, bored, in front of the towering white building that encompasses Gringott’s until Ron appears beside him.

“Didn’t have to leave without me.” A cold wind whips at their faces, and Ron shivers.

Draco manages to muster a small smile. “I think I did, Weasley. Who knows how long we would have stood there bickering otherwise?”

He begins leading Ron up the white steps and through the burnished bronze doors of the bank, the first stop on their day long Christmas shopping trip. He’s only brought Ron along on the off chance he has a difficult time finding Harry a Christmas gift. Surely not. Surely he knows Harry as well as Ron. No, _better_ than Ron. Obviously. He reassures himself that he’s doing all this as a favour, a huge favour to Ron mind you, and helping him choose a gift for Hermoine.

They make their way through the vast marble hall and to the long counters stretching along the length of its walls, waiting for one of the many goblins to assist them to their vaults. Draco can see how busy it is in here today, but it still irks him to be kept waiting as Ron chatters in his ear to him about Merlin knows what. He’s thoroughly irritated by the time he reaches the counter.

He finally interrupts Ron’s long recounting of the Chudley Cannon’s latest match to say, “Don’t they know who my husband is?”

Ron gives him an odd look, but he doesn’t dwell on it because it’s _finally_ his turn.

“I’m here for vault six hundred eighty-seven.” He drawls out importantly. “The Potter-Malfoy vault.”

The goblin simply stares back at him. “Key?”

Draco purses his lips together and hands over the key to the vault. “My _husband_ wouldn’t like that I’ve been kept waiting so long.”

The goblin doesn’t even see fit to respond.

Draco heads off with him to retrieve money from their vault miles below the city. He tries to ignore the enormous pile of galleons that spills over in the back of the vault, courtesy of his father. He can’t bring himself to use any of it. He only looks one time at the pile in the back that grows larger each time he comes to the vault. This is all besides the vault he inherited when he came of age that remains untouched. His only temptation to use the money his father has tried to make so accessible is so that he could buy something grand for Harry. But then again, Harry’s never been impressed by money. He sighs and leaves with a much smaller bag of coins than he ever would have left Gringotts with before he began a relationship with Harry.

He finds Ron in the front of the bank looking harried. “I hate those bloody carts. My goblin was so reckless! I swear we nearly went off the tracks a couple of times!”

Draco stops so abruptly that Ron knocks into him. “What are you on about? You once rode a half-blind dragon out of Gringotts, but you’re worried about a goblin cart ride?”

“Don’t remind me.” Ron shudders at the memory. “So where to first?”

Draco stares down Diagon Alley a bit anxiously. He honestly hasn’t a clue as to what to buy Harry. “Let’s just browse a bit.”

They walk down the crowded cobblestoned streets stopping to window shop at nearly every store front. It’s clear Ron has about as much idea as to what to buy Hermoine as Draco has as to what to buy Harry.

“Perhaps we should start by finding something for Hermoine.” Draco suggests. “And I’ll just keep a lookout for something to buy for Potter as we go. _Clearly_ , you’re going to need a lot of help.”

“It’s dead weird to me that you still call him Potter.” Ron remarks as he makes his way into Sugarplum’s Sweets Shop.

“Shut up,” Malfoy says as he follows Ron inside. “It’s not weird.”

“It _is_ weird,” Ron says with shake of his head. “He’s your husband.”

“I know he’s my _husband,_ Weasley,” Malfoy says indignantly. “And it’s not like I only call him Potter.”

“I’ve only ever heard you call him Harry once. When you were saying your wedding vows.” Ron picks up a package of candied violets and examines them. “What do you suppose these do?”

“I don’t call him Potter when we’re in bed.” He declares. “And I assume there’s some sort of beauty charm on the violets. Or perhaps they’re infused with a beautification potion.”

Draco looks at the box of candied violets more closely. He sniffs them to see if he can detect a potion. He realises Ron has been quiet for more than a few seconds, so he looks up to see him staring, his lips twisted in a grimace.

“What?”

“Too much information! Christ, Malfoy!” Ron looks like he’s just cursed himself with a slug vomiting charm.

“I didn’t think that I even gave you much information on the violets, Weasley.” Draco tries to hide a smile. “And don’t look at me like that. As if you’ve never pictured us naked before.”

“I haven’t!” Ron shouts. Heads turn to look at them.

“I haven’t,” Ron insists more quietly this time, shaking his head. “Like I would picture my best friend naked. Bloody hell.”

“Ah, I see. So just me you picture naked then. Can hardly blame you. Potter’s always telling me how beautiful I am. How gorgeous my hair is, long like this. How my eyes are as grey as a storm. How my arse is--”

“Merlin’s beard.” Ron whimpers, covering his ears. “Please stop.”

Draco lets himself grin and give a small snort before he frowns down at the candied violets in his hand. “No one has even been by to check in on us.”

Ron looks around for a clerk. “Well, it is pretty busy--”

“Does anyone actually work here?” He asks loudly, waving the box of candied violets in the air. “We need help with these.”

A harried shopkeeper suddenly appears. “Yes? Do you need help with something?”

“Yes, my friend would like to know what’s special about these particular violets.”

“Ah, well they have a small charm on them for a bit of temporary help with your complexion. Gives it a nice sheen and even skin tone. They taste delightful as well.”

Draco gives Ron an unimpressed look.

“Uh, okay. Thanks,” Ron says. “Don’t think my wife would appreciate that actually. More of a beauty from within believer, she is.”

“Obviously.” Draco sniggers. “She picked you, didn’t she?”

Ron shoots him a dirty look. “Well, what about something for Harry here?”

Draco glances around the shop. “Hmmm. I suppose I could get Bolandi’s pineapple as part of the gift. Yes, please fetch me Bolandi’s Crystalised Pineapple.”

“Erm--sorry, sir.” The shopkeeper says uncomfortably. “We’ve sold out just this morning, I’m afraid.”

Draco rounds on him. “How could you not have ordered enough? And around the holidays? This is unacceptable. My _husband_ will be hearing about this.”

He whips his cloak around him and whisks he and Ron out of Sugarplums to the sound of the shopkeeper’s apologies.

He stops outside Eeylops Owl Emporium and stares in with a sigh. He glances over at Ron who just shrugs. He frowns and then opens the door to the sounds of scratches and hoots. Most of the owls appear to be asleep at this time of day, but there are a few who peer out cautiously from their cages in the small, dark room.

He stops and looks in at a large snowy owl. Flashes of memories flit through his mind. He never could take his eyes off Harry’s owl. He’d watch Hedwig descend into the Great Hall with a curiosity he didn’t understand at the time. Ready as always to try to capture Harry’s attention.

“Do you think Harry would want an owl that looks so much like--well--”

“No,” Draco says quietly. “No, but I think perhaps he’d like his own again. He’s been sharing with me for years, which has worked perfectly fine. He’ll never say he’d like to have one of his own again. So maybe I should just get one and tell him I’m sick of sharing or something. Make it seem like it’s inconveniencing me to share.”

Ron stares at him, grinning like a fool.

“What is it, Weasley? You’re creeping me out.”

“Knew there must be some goodness lurking in that black heart of yours.” Ron’s face splits into a ridiculously large smile.

“Oh, shut up.”

“No, no! I’m glad to get a glimpse.” Ron is still wearing the silliest look on his face. “Expect you only let Harry see this side of you. You know, your soft side.”

Draco snorts and works his way around the shop looking for an eagle owl to match his own. They should have a pair of them. They’re the best type of owl anyway. He doesn’t see one amongst the many cages. Frowning, he approaches the counter.

“I can’t seem to find an eagle owl here.” He waves his arm gesturing to the many cages behind him. “ _Surely,_ you sell eagle owls.”

“Well, no we don’t usually sell eagle owls.” The shopkeeper answers. “None now I’m afraid. I expect we could procure one for you if you don’t need one immediately.”

Draco can feel his jaw clenching. “The owl is a gift for my _husband._ Do you really want to disappoint him? You _do_ know who my husband is, of course.”

“Uhm--of course. I--can make arrangements as quickly as possible. Would you like me to notify you when the owl arrives, Mr. Potter-Malfoy?”

“Yes,” he says through gritted teeth. The owl would have made a wonderful gift. And it still will, but he has no way of knowing if it will arrive before Christmas. He pays twenty galleons for a bird he doesn’t even bring home with him. He mutters under his breath about the cost as he leads Ron back out the door and into the street. A light dusting of snow has begun to fly about and cover the ground.

“What do you care what it costs?” Ron asks as he looks in at the next storefront. “You’re minted, aren’t you? Surely, your father’s given you loads of money--”

“I don’t spend my father’s money.” He bites out as he peers through the window into Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. He sees George helping demonstrate what looks to be a Muggle magic trick.

Ron shrugs. “Oh. Well, I suppose you don’t need to what with Harry’s inheritance and all.”

“That’s not why I don’t spend my father’s money.” He spits out harshly. “And do you think I like the thought of using my husband’s money all the time?”

”What? No!” Ron says, sounding panicked. “That’s not what I meant at all. I just meant, Harry’s got loads of money. You guys don’t have to worry about it!”

“I realise what it must look like to you,” he says quietly. He doesn’t meet Ron’s eyes, just continues staring in the frosty shop window. “I’m a freelance potioneer. I’m obviously not bringing in a lot of money, but--”

“Malfoy. I don’t think you’re a leech. And honestly, Harry probably secretly enjoys it.” Ron heads into the shop, calling out a hello to his brother.

“What do you mean he _enjoys_ it?” Draco hisses.

“Well, Harry likes to take care of people, doesn’t he?” Ron shrugs as he picks up a purple Pygmy Puff. “Do you think Hermione would like a purple one or a blue one?”

Harry likes to take care of people. Harry likes to take care of _him._ He lets these ideas sink in. Of course, he knew this about Harry already in general, but somehow, he’d never applied it to _them,_ to their relationship.

“Unhand the Pygmy Puffs, Weasley.” Draco says, rolling his eyes. “Your brother’s joke shop is not the place to buy a gift for your wife.”

Ron sighs. “What’d we come in here for then?”

“I don’t know. I was following you!”

“Don’t know why you’d follow me, mate.” Ron grimaces. “I clearly don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Yes, well, I suppose I could pick up some gifts for my niece and nephew. Something for muggles of course, so there’s no use in going to Pilliwinkle’s. We don’t need to give Dudley a reason to be wary of us again.”

They wander over to George for help in finding something to buy. George assists them in finding something appropriate whilst reliving his own experience with Dudley long ago.

“My only regret is I never got to see how long his tongue got.” George sighs wistfully as he packages up the gifts.

Draco gives him a cold look. “Laugh it up all you want, but don’t even consider sneaking anything magical in with these toys. I’ll know exactly who to report to my _husband,_ if you do.”

“I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t!” George insists, still chuckling at his own memories of a long ago revenge on Harry’s behalf. “No Ton-Tongue Toffees in here, I promise.”

Draco narrows his eyes at George. “See that you don’t, or you’ll answer to my _husband._ ”

George holds up his hands in defense. “So you’ve said, Malfoy. So you’ve said.”

At Potage’s Cauldron Shop they really only find things that Draco would want. He’s disappointed there’s no green copper cauldrons available though. Green being his favourite colour after all. And not just because he’s a Slytherin. He decides to wait on a purchase for himself when he’s supposed to be shopping for Harry.

They try Quality Quidditch Supplies, but there is nothing very spectacular to buy Harry. They simply don’t play Quidditch pick up games like they used to. He secretly buys a Chudley Canons jersey for Ron though. Although the shopkeeper nearly ruins the surprise when Draco tries to have the package delivered. Luckily, Ron was quite busy comparing Quidditch gloves.

At Twilfit and Tattings, he has hopes of finding the perfect new cloak for Harry, but he searches the fabrics for the exact shade of green to match Harry’s eyes and comes away empty handed.

“Why green?” Ron asks. “Get him red. You know, you can’t make him be a Slytherin, Malfoy.”

“Not why I’m looking for green.” He mutters as he looks back darkly at the green fabric choices.

“Why then?”

Draco sniffs. “Well, if you must know, I was trying to find one that matches his eyes.”

Ron shakes his head in amusement. “There must have been twenty different shades of green in there!”

“Yes, well, none of them were precisely the correct shade, so it didn’t much matter, now did it?” Draco huffs.

“You’re so bloody gone for him, can’t believe it took me so long to realise.” Ron laughs.

“So what? Shut up. It’s not exactly news that I’m in love with my husband.”

“No, but you’ve been gone for him since probably the first time you ever saw him when we were eleven!” Ron laughs. “Opened up that door on the train, BAM, hate/love at first sight.”

“Wasn’t on the train.” Draco mutters.

“What wasn’t on the train?”

“The first time I saw Harry wasn’t on the train to Hogwarts.”

Ron crinkles his forehead in thought.

Draco sighs. “It was at Madam Malkin’s. We were both getting fitted for our Hogwarts’ robes.”

“Oh, I think I vaguely recall hearing that maybe. Weren’t you a twat about something? And then Harry wasn’t too keen on you after that.”

Draco flushes. “I may have said a few things trying to--”

“Trying to what?” Ron presses.

“Nothing. Never mind. So where should we look for Hermione’s gift?” Draco says looking down the street in an exaggerated manner in an attempt to change the subject.

“Were you trying to impress him? Right off the bat then?”

“Okay! I might have been trying to impress him. But I was only eleven! We were just kids. I was trying to impress everybody back then.”

“Sure, sure.” Ron grins. “Especially the cute boy with green eyes.”

“Shut up, Weasley.”

“Heyyyy, now that I think about it, you weren’t trying to impress me at all! Quite rude to me as I recall.”

“You weren’t my type.” Draco says with a smirk as he opens the door to Amanuensis Quills and steps inside.

He and Ron glance around at the varieties of parchments and inks and quills. Ron sniffs at a few of the fragranced inks, and Draco examines an eagle feather quill for Harry. Ron holds out a pheasant quill and a bottle of ink that has a faint honeysuckle smell to it.

“What’d you think of these?”

“Well, I suppose she could use them.” He says, eying them critically.

“So, no, then?”

“I’d say you best buy them, Weasley, and then hope you find something better.”

“Are you going to buy that quill for Harry?” Ron asks gesturing towards the eagle feather quill still in Draco’s hand.

“I suppose. It doesn’t seem special enough somehow though.” He looks around the small shop. “I wonder if they’d have a phoenix feather, a red one even. I think Harry might like that.”

When he asks, the clerk informs him otherwise. “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t carry phoenix feathers. Much too valuable for most people to just use them as quills.”

“Well, I think _some_ people would be interested in using them as quills.” He says curtly as he pays for the eagle feather quill instead. “You know my _husband_ should write with whatever quill he would like to write with. He _should_ be writing with the most valuable quills.”

“Come off it, Malfoy.” Ron snorts. “Harry doesn’t give a fig about what quill he’s writing with.”

“I’m really sorry, sir,” the clerk says nervously. “I can ask the owner if he could procure one for you.”

“It’s fine.” It’s not fine. He still doesn’t have anything really special for Harry.

He and Ron make their way through shops on Diagon Alley and Carkitt Market and Horizont Alley, searching for the perfect gift. And although Draco has found many presents to buy Harry, none have seemed quite right. Ron’s demeanor has grown more and more frantic as the day passes and they still haven’t found much to buy Hermione.

“Look, I could use a break,” Ron finally says. “Let’s go get a drink.”

They make their way through the snow dusted, crowded street to the Leaky Cauldron and slide into a booth, sipping their drinks in silence for a few moments before Ron lets out a huge sigh.

“She’s so bloody hard to buy for.”

“She hasn’t given you any hints at all as to what she might want?” Draco asks.

“No. None. I mean, the only thing she really loves are--”

“Books.” They both say in unison.

They both burst into laughter.

“Of course, books. Bloody stupid of us to not think of that first.” Ron rubs the back of his neck, a rueful smile on his face.

“Flourish & Blotts then?”

“Yeah. You think you have what you wanted for Harry?”

Draco’s lips press into a line. “No, but I’ve spent most of what I got out of Gringotts today.”

Ron studies him for a moment. “You know, Harry’s never valued money over much. We could think of something that doesn’t cost a lot.”

“Harry doesn’t understand my reluctance to use the money my father’s given me. You’re right that he doesn’t seem to place much importance on money.”

“Well, I always thought your father was a wanker so there’s that, but why don’t you want to use the money?”

“When he accepts my marriage to Harry then perhaps he and I can have something to say to each other.”

“Oh. It’s still like that then? Like I said, a wanker.”

“For once I’ll agree with you somewhat, Weasley.”

“If I were you, I’d take his money and do something bloody outrageous with it for Harry.”

Draco snorts. “Like what?”

“I dunno. Like commission a huge portrait of Harry and have it sent to hang--somewhere. The Ministry of Magic or Hogwarts or--Malfoy Manor.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Can you imagine? First of all, Harry would hex me if I sent a portrait of him to the Ministry. They’d probably hang it in a place of honour, and he’d never live it down. And if I sent it to Malfoy Manor there’d suddenly be a large bonfire in the garden.”

Ron leans in and whispers, “Maybe it could be a _nude_ portrait.”

Ron then proceeds to laugh hysterically at the thought.

“Knew you thought about us naked, Weasley. Now, finish your butterbeer and let’s go find Hermione a book.”

Once in Flourish & Blotts they head off in different directions to search for a book Hermione doesn’t already own. He smiles at the piles of _Standard Book of Spells_ books and picks up a copy of _Charm Your Own Cheese_ which he isn’t sure Hermione would really appreciate. He sets it down again. He looks closely at the latest edition of _Magical Drafts & Potions _ and considers it briefly for himself before he picks up the latest copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ for Harry. It still just doesn’t feel like enough. He knows he’ll be leaving Diagon Alley today not any closer to the perfect gift for Harry. With a sigh, he finds Ron triumphantly holding a large illustrated limited edition of _Hogwarts, A History._ He raises an eyebrow. It really is the perfect gift.

~*~

Draco apparates in front of he and Harry’s home with very few packages to show for himself. As he opens the door, an owl flies in with him, depositing a letter on Harry’s lap. Harry looks to be reading a different letter and looks up at him from the sofa with an odd look on his face.

“Have fun shopping with Ron then?”

Draco shrugs and wordlessly sends his cloak into the hall cupboard.

“Did you--?” Harry begins.

“Did I what?”

“Did you _complain_ to a goblin at Gringotts?”      

“What?” He says with a snort. “Of course, not.”

“So you didn’t tell--” Harry looks down at the letter. “--Dargitt the Goblin that I don’t like when you’re kept waiting?”

“Oh.” Draco replies. “Well--I _may_ have said something to that effect yes. Is it an apology then?”

“Hardly,” Harry says with a shake of his head. “I’ll spare you the details.”

Harry begins opening the next letter as Draco heads into the kitchen to rummage up a snack. When he walks back into the room, Harry seems to be letting yet another owl in through the window.

“A lot of mail today, isn’t there?” Draco asks a bit uneasily.

“Yes. A bit.” Harry says as he gives him a strange look. “The one I just opened was full of apologies from Sugarplums concerned they’d ruined my Christmas due to a shortage of Bolandi’s Crystalised Pineapple.”

“Uhmm--”

Harry tears open the next letter. “Well, and this is from George saying that he may have not sent you on your way with Ton-Tongue Toffees, but he says he has sent something extra in the gift that’s spectacular. He also says, “Don’t want Malfoy telling on me or something. So I’m telling you ahead of time.”

“Hmmm--”

A tap on the window causes them both to turn and look at the two owls waiting to deliver letters. Draco swiftly walks to the window to try to intercept whatever it is these owls have.

“Are those for me as well?” Harry asks.

“No!” Draco whirls around triumphantly as the first letter is for him. The other owl has a package as well as a letter. They’re addressed to Harry though. “Well, this one is addressed to you, I suppose.”

Draco opens his. It’s from Eeylops. It says: “The eagle has landed. Should be ready to transport to you tomorrow. Got a lucky break. Hope I wrote this in code enough so Harry doesn’t know what you’re buying him for Christmas!” He rolls his eyes and turns to Harry.

Harry holds up the letter. “This is from Twillfit and Tattings. They want me to try and colour match my eyes. They’ve sent about fifty swatches of green fabric. Any idea why they’d do that?”

Draco is sure his face is turning about fifty shades of pink right now, but he can’t bring himself to say why. “No idea. Perhaps they know their customers would like to have cloaks that are a certain shade of _saviour_ green.”

Harry bites his lip. Draco’s pretty sure it’s to keep from laughing. He definitely sees the smile Harry’s trying to hold back that eventually breaks open on his face. “What in the world did you--”

Harry’s interrupted by yet another owl at the window. Draco stomps over to the window and flings it open. “What? WHAT? WHO ELSE COULD POSSIBLY BE SENDING AN OWL TO HUMILIATE ME?”

Harry laughs, doubled over on the sofa as a large barn owl swoops down to land in front of him. He takes the letter and opens it. As Harry reads it, he begins to laugh so hard that tears stream down his face.

“What? WHAT? Tell me what it says!” Draco demands.

“It says--” Harry gasps for air. “It’s from Amanuensis--” Harry wheezes a bit. “They’ve located a--” Harry bursts into a fresh round of laughter. “--a phoenix feather quill for me--” Harry coughs and tries to regain control of himself. “And they’re very sorry it took a few hours to locate one as they agree with my husband that I should be using the most valuable quill possible.”

Draco growls and dives on top of Harry, knocking him a bit to the side and straddling him. He peppers kisses all over his face as Harry continues to chuckle. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

“Did you really spend all day telling everyone you’re my husband and demanding things from them?”

“Maybe.” Draco sits back on his heels, still atop Harry on the sofa and whips his shirt off over his head. Harry’s interest seems to be growing. “But I was mostly demanding things on your behalf. No one was very helpful in procuring me anything worthy to give you for Christmas.”

“Hmmm--” Harry murmurs as he lets his thumbs caress just beneath the waist of Draco’s trousers. “Think this might be gift enough.”

“What is?”

“You on top of me with your shirt off.”

Draco snorts and then whimpers when Harry’s thumbs move up to brush lightly against his nipples. Before he can give anything another thought, Harry has manhandled him onto his back and is now looming over him.

“Mmmm--yes, this is a very nice gift.” Harry mutters as he looks him over and then sends his glasses wordlessly to the table. Harry’s fingers tangle through the hair at the back of Draco’s head. Harry angles his head up to get to his neck more easily. Harry’s lips are at his throat now, and he’s sucking a love bite into the spot that goes straight to Draco’s dick. “If I give you enough of these, you won’t have to go around telling everyone you’re mine. They’ll already see how very _mine_ you are.”

Draco moans at the thought, and he’s already unbelievably hard for how short a time they’ve started this. Draco presses his body upward, trying to gain a bit of friction. And then, Harry’s hands leave his hair, and he’s sitting up abruptly. The cool air that washes over him makes Draco call out a noise of protest, but Harry’s rough hands are making quick work of unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers and tugging them and his pants to his knees.

Draco’s stomach flips with anticipation at the sight of Harry at his feet, his cheeks flushed with mirrored desire. Harry grins wickedly before he leans in to begin nibbling at his thigh. Draco lets out a groan.

“Please, Harry--”

“Please, Harry, what?”

“You want me to beg?” Draco huffs.

“Might be nice,” Harry says, but he’s already nipping along his thigh again.

“Please fuck me.”

Harry lets out a strangled noise that sounds like perhaps he agrees with the notion.

“Wanted--” Draco pants as Harry takes him in his mouth. “--to take care of you--”

Harry hums his acknowledgement around Draco’s cock.

“Fuck--I love you--and not just when my cock is in your mouth--”

He feels Harry’s laugh rather than hears it. Merlin, it feels good. Harry builds up a bit of a rhythm sucking him down and coming back up, but before it can truly build, Harry suddenly releases him and flips him onto his stomach. Draco only vaguely hears the preparation and protection charms Harry casts before Harry pushes him onto his knees, which are still trapped in his trousers.

Draco arches his back to better offer himself, and now it’s Harry’s turn to moan at the sight. “Oh love, you do take care of me. Such good care of me.”

Draco’s eyes slide closed as he feels Harry’s fingertips slide reverently down his back and over his arse.

“So beautiful,” Harry says as he slides one finger inside him.

“Do you know how beautiful you look like this?” Harry asks as he slides his finger nearly out and then plunges it back inside over and over again.

Harry adds a second finger as pleasure courses through Draco at the praise. “If you could only see how gorgeous you are like this, so ready for me.”

“Please--Harry--I am--I’m ready--”

“Hmmm--are you sure?” Harry asks as he slides a third finger inside him and Draco shouts out at the pressure on the spot that Harry’s fingers have found.

“So--sure--Harry--please--”

Harry’s fingers slide out of him and then Draco can feel his hands rough against his hips as he guides him into place. Draco moans loudly at the sensation of Harry’s cock finally, _finally,_ entering him. No matter how many preparation charms Harry casts, he always makes sure Draco is truly ready for him. It sends a surge through Draco’s heart, the way Harry always takes care of him.

Harry’s hands roam Draco’s body as he pushes further inside him. Harry’s palm slide up Draco’s ribcage until it reaches his nipple. He rubs the small tip with his fingers whilst his other hand grips tightly to Draco’s hip. Harry’s lips find Draco’s neck again as Draco leans his head back and begs him to keep moving.

Harry murmurs his agreement and then pulls out and thrusts back in. He moans and trembles beneath Harry and arches his back as Harry continues to move inside him, deeper and deeper. Harry has set a rapid pace, and Draco squeezes his eyes shut at the onslaught of sensations. Harry’s hand moves to grip his cock and the few strokes he manages are enough to have Draco coming with a loud moan spilling into Harry’s hand as he clutches the pillows on the sofa.

At the sound of Draco’s moans, Harry pumps into him forcefully once, twice more before he stiffens and comes inside him. Harry collapses half on top of him as they pant and try to catch their breath. Draco squirms until Harry lets him out from under the weight of his body.

He doesn’t go far. He merely turns so as to better face Harry on the sofa. He watches the rise and fall of Harry’s chest as he breathes, his eyes closed and with a smug grin still plastered on his face.

“You look very pleased with yourself, Potter.”

Harry tightens his arms around Draco. “Don’t call me Potter when I’ve just come inside you.”

Draco smiles into the warmth of Harry’s chest. “Did you know Ron thought I called you ‘Potter’ at all times? Even during sex?”

“Merlin’s sake, why were you and Ron even talking about that?”

“I don’t know. He brought it up though. Likes to think about us naked, I suppose. Can hardly blame him really.”

Harry shudders. “I do not want to think about Ron picturing us naked, thanks.”

“Like it’s my fault!” Draco laughs. He knows it’s his fault.

“In any case, I am quite pleased with myself, thank you.” Draco hears the smile in his voice. “I made my extremely fit husband come, didn’t I? And he spent his entire day reminding everyone he belongs to me.”

Draco scoffs. “Well, you belong to me as well. We belong to each other.”

“We belong together.”

“Of course.”

~*~

Christmas morning dawns brightly white with several inches of snow on the ground to most everyone’s surprise. Harry seems to quite like the eagle feather quill and the newest edition of _Quidditch Through the Ages._ The eagle owl that Eeylops procured for him arrives shortly afterwards, and Harry’s face lights up. Draco is quite pleased about that gift. Sugarplums manages to send a package of Bolandi’s Crystalised Pineapple via a very bedraggled owl, and Draco feels a twinge of guilt at what they must have done to get it to him on Christmas morning. Harry has a good laugh over it though, so that seems worth it as well.

Maybe he hadn’t really needed to do anything further than these small tokens of his affection. Harry looks at him over their tea with a gleam in his eye that Draco knows he put there, and it all seems like enough.

Too bad he’s gone way over the top with his next gift then.

“So--I have something I’d like to show you.”

“Oh really? Is it something in your pants?” Harry waggles his eyebrows.

“No.” Draco laughs. “Merlin’s sake. No, it’s not in my pants. It’s--another gift of sorts.”

“You got me _more_ gifts. Draco, you really didn’t--”

“I know, but well--just wait here.”

Draco pulls a very old, large, ornate trunk from the spare bedroom into the kitchen where Harry watches him curiously.

He opens the trunk, and Harry gasps out loud.

“You married into a very old, very wealthy wizarding family, I’m afraid, Potter. So I can pull things like this out of my hat to impress you.”

He picks up the carved stone basin and places it on the table in front of Harry. Harry examines the symbols carved into the lip of the basin. He seems to take note of the snakes on one side as well as the glittering emeralds inlaid into the stone. It looks quite out of place in their fairly modest home. A twinge of annoyance pricks at his mind at the thought of who he had to speak to in order to deliver on this gift, but he tries to set that aside for now, for Harry.

Draco pulls out his wand and brings it to his temple. He casts a spell to extract a very particular memory. When he pulls his wand away from his head, a silvery thread appears at its tip, still connected to his temple before dropping away into the pensieve. They both look at the memory swirling around in the depths of the basin like whirls of silver smoke, and Draco motions for Harry to move close enough to relive the memory he’s just placed there.

Draco remembers that cold afternoon in his eighth year at Hogwarts like it happened only yesterday. He wonders what exactly Harry will make of it all.

~*~

_Harry feels the odd sensation of entering the memory of someone else. It’s not a feeling he thinks he’ll ever grow accustomed to._

_He finds himself by the lake. It’s clearly quite chilly out as the lake seems to be frozen into the colour of chilled steel. There he finds a younger Draco, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old, staring out across the lake, alone and clutching a pad of parchment to his chest. Harry wonders if he’d been drawing or sketching something. Draco slowly releases the pad enough to look at what’s been written or drawn._

_Harry expects to see some icy landscape drawings of the forest or the castle, but instead what he sees on Draco’s pad are lightning bolts and a series of eyes drawn similarly but all green in colour. Draco doesn’t stay at the lake. Instead with an audible sigh, Draco trudges back to the castle._

_Draco’s shoulders tense as soon as walks through the doors. Nasty glares dart his way as Draco seems to keep his eyes firmly fixed at the floor, rather than make eye contact with anyone. Harry can hear murmurs as they walk through the corridors. He catches snippets of insults. “Filthy Death Eater.” “Should be in Azkaban with the rest of them.” “Can’t believe he still shows his face here.”_

_Harry follows Draco into the Great Hall where he sits at the Slytherin table next to Blaise Zabini and eats in silence, ignoring some of the small items that seem to be pelting him at odd intervals. He watches as Draco suddenly looks up and across the room. Harry’s eyes follow Draco’s line of sight that goes directly to the younger Harry of Draco’s memories, currently sitting at the Gryffindor table.  They both stare at each other, eyes burning across the room. Harry knows well that it’s desire and not enmity reflected in their eyes. The moment doesn't last though, and he watches as Draco's shoulders sink back into himself as soon as Harry's eyes fix elsewhere._

_He follows Draco back out of the Great Hall after the meal and towards one of the many spiraling staircases.  Draco stops abruptly and stares at people conversing at the foot of the stairs. Harry looks to see who Draco has stopped to watch and sees himself speaking with a seventh year girl  whose name he no longer remembers, and now he knows perhaps why he’s in this memory. Draco inches closer to the staircase as though to listen more closely, and now Harry can hear his younger self speaking with the girl._

_“Harry, have you thought about who you’re going to ask to the Yule Ball?” The girl bats her eyes at him._

_Harry watches himself suddenly smile, and he can almost feel the adrenaline that he remembers coursing through him at the time._

_“Yeah, you know, I think I’m going to ask him right now actually.”_

_He watches himself stride off purposefully towards Draco, who is looking at him wide eyed and seemingly immobilised._

_His younger self speaks loudly, and he cringes a bit at his own audacity. “Draco! Would you go to the Yule Ball with me?”_

_The blood drains from Draco’s face. “What?”_

_He watches himself walk right into Draco’s personal space, but at least he’s speaking more quietly now. “I just asked you to go to the Yule Ball with me.”_

_Draco stares at him for a moment before he says, “Shut up, Potter,” and quickly begins making his way through groups of students and down a hallway. Both versions of himself chase after Draco._

_“Was that a no or a yes?” Harry hears himself call out as they both dodge the students between them and Draco._

_Draco stops abruptly and turns around once they’re out of the milling students on their way to class. Harry can see on his face how he’s struggling to hold himself together, and all he wants is to wrap his arms around him and protect him and protect the man he’s become now._

_“Stop following me. You’ve made your joke, now go back and revel in it with all your fans.” Draco hisses._

_“Not a joke,” Harry says._

_“What?”_

_“It’s not a joke.” Harry repeats. “I want to take you to the Yule Ball.”_

_Draco eyes him warily. “Why?”_

_Harry grins, eyes flashing green fire. Harry cringes again as he watches his younger self lean in and nearly whisper in Draco’s ear. “Maybe I just think you’re quite--fit.”_

_“Oh my god--”_

_“Maybe I like the way you fill out your trousers when I see you without your robes on.” Harry waggles his eyebrows suggestively._

_Draco lets out an involuntary laugh that he immediately tries to cover up with his hands. “You’re disgusting, Potter.”_

_He watches his younger self smirk and study Draco’s face, which is lightened into a look that shows anything but disgust._

_“I’d like to--know you.” Harry watches the swagger of his younger self dissipate into something more genuine. “I don’t think we ever did really--know each other, that is. And I’d like to now, if you’ll let me.”_

_“I’ll see you on Saturday, Potter. Don’t be late or I’ll leave without you.”_

_Harry watches his face break into a wide smile and practically strut away. He can’t help but roll his eyes at himself. It actually reminds him a bit of what he’s seen and heard about his father. But then, he looks at Draco. Draco stares down at the sketchbook in his hands at the sketches of green eyes and lightning bolts. The look on his face is one that Harry would eventually see quite often, whenever he did something to please him. A sparkle in his grey eyes and a sideways smile. It’s a look that speaks of happiness. It’s a look that Harry tries his best to make happen as often as possible now. He’s only sorry he didn’t see it at that moment the first time around._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed my first attempt writing Drarry! If you liked it, please consider leaving kudos and/or a comment! If you'd like to see the tumblr post I made for this fic [you can find it here!](http://allwaswell16.tumblr.com/post/168694528576/be-my-homeward-dove-written-by-allwaswell16)
> 
> A huge thank you to my beta, [waitingforsomeghostie](http://waitingforsomeghostie.tumblr.com/)! Thank you so much for looking this over so quickly for me and catching my errors. <3
> 
> The idea for this fic stemmed from [this post](https://malfoyiss.tumblr.com/post/165682921515/i-feel-like-draco-would-start-saying-my-husband) on tumblr.


End file.
